The Man Who Loved Lily
by Masako Moonshade
Summary: AU. The Dark Lord granted his loyal servant a favor... now that servant must deal with the consequences.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters, spells, potions, etc, belong to J.K. Rowling, not me… Though I do sincerely wish otherwise. Indexes of the spells and potions were obtained on Mugglenet, to save me some time.

AN: A couple of things first off: 1) This story is riddled with spoilers for Deathly Hallows. Read at your own risk. 2) The dialogue in the beginning was written by JKR. 3) Please forgive me if, at any time, this seems a bit OOC. I've scoured the books for every line spoken by Young!Snape and Lily, and I've done my best, but try to keep in mind that the only dialogue available for this particular time period is a bunch of people sobbing and screaming. So I filled in the blanks based on what happened before and after in the canon and a smidgeon of creative license. Also keep in mind that when traumatized, people tend to act a bit different. And the way I see it, Snape turned all bitter and hostile during the decade in which he was working in Hogwarts. 4) There is further information regarding my theory on Harry and James, which will be included in the next chapter's Author Note. 5) Yes, I realize that this probably isn't the first of its kind, nor do I think that this will be the best. Oh well. My muses told me to write it so I did.

That in mind, read on.

* * *

**The Man Who Loved Lily**

.-.-.-.

The makeshift barricade was thrown aside in a heartbeat, and broken bits of wood scattered across the floor. All color drained from the woman's face, but still she was not as pale as her attacker. She stood half terrified, half defiant before him, spreading her arms to create the largest shield her body could manage.

"Not Harry," she said, her pleading voice faint with horror. "Not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl…" The Dark Lord had not forgotten his favor to the man who had delivered the prophecy. "Stand aside, _now_."

"Not Harry, please no, kill me instead—"

Still, the woman was as annoying as she was pathetic.

"This is my last warning," he growled, raising his wand.

"Not Harry!" Suddenly her voice raised, filling the room with her cries, her pale face stained with tears. "Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—"

And now she was begging. The repetition of it all irked the Dark Lord. Next she would fall to her knees, like so many others… The favor to Snape surely wasn't worth this agitation. It would be far better just to kill the girl now.

And yet… such a little thing would surely prove how he rewarded his loyal servants. The girl did possess some measure of beauty—she would make an excellent example, and the rest of his followers would see, and they would want such prizes. He would entice them with favor, and in doing so strengthen the bond he had forged of fear.

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

She swallowed, but remained on her feet, fiercely between the Dark Lord and the child. And though her voice quavered, there was a strength within it that he could not deny. "No."

The Dark Lord Voldemort allowed a sneering grin to wash over his serpentine face.

"_Stupefy_."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

When she woke, it was to the feeling of a damp cloth being pressed to her forehead. Her eyelids were heavy, and the little light that seeped through was hazy and tinged with red. A sharp throb lighted in her skull, and she gasped. The pressure on the cloth receded, and she felt something cold and wet being pressed to her lips.

_It's him, it's __Voldemort__—he's __trying__ to poison me—where is –_

"You have to drink it, Lily," a familiar voice murmured. "It'll help with the pain."

She groaned in reply, trying to place a name to the voice… it was familiar… but...

"You hit your head when you fell," it explained gently. "You had other cuts and bruises, but I've already taken care of those. All that's left is a little pain, and I swear, Lily, I swear this'll help."

She knew that voice… but… "Wh… who…?" She tried to open her eyes, but the world remained dim and clouded.

"Lily," the voice chided gently. "Don't you know me? It's me... It's me. You know me, remember?"

"S-Sev?" she whispered, a flicker of hope awakening within her. She tried to sit up, but a firm hand pressed softly against her shoulder, pinning her into the bed.

"Shh… yes, it's me. You need to rest, Lily."

She was about to agree—he'd been her best friend, after all—but something else stopped her. He didn't wait for a reply, instead pressing the cold thing—a phial of potion—to her lips again, and tipping it into her mouth. She felt the change seconds later—a vague coolness that spread through every inch of her body, soothing away the ache in her head and pains she hadn't even realized she had, replacing it with a comfortable haze.

"You're a real genius with potions," she said, the ghost of her old humor bleeding into her voice. "But—"

"Are you up to eating?" he asked, sliding past the compliment.

"Listen," she began. "I have to know—"

"No," Severus protested. " Everything else comes later. First you must—"

"But—" He clasped his palm over her mouth, as though they were still in their school days. As though That Day had never happened. She blinked at him.

"Eat." A flick of his wand summoned the tray of sandwiches—tuna and tomato, that was her favorite—that he had prepared before waking her. The tray fell into her lap with a soft _thud_. "You're used to talking with your mouth full, aren't you?" Slowly he removed his hand, though his palm burned slightly where it had covered her lips. She looked at him for a long moment, and then spoke in a rush.

"What happened?"

He picked up one of the sandwiches and held it up to her face. Grudgingly she took it herself and bit into it.

"What happened?" she repeated, barely letting herself swallow.

"That can wait."

"But what about—"

"After you finish eating," he said curtly. "Surely you've got other questions?" There was a solidity in his eyes, unyielding and sure, and she narrowed her own emerald eyes.

"Fine," she grumbled, swallowing another mammoth bite without chewing. She almost choked, but forced it down nonetheless. "Another question then." She coughed. "What day is today?"

"Thursday."

"_Which_ Thursday?" she pressed. She hadn't been one of Slughorn's favorites for nothing.

"November the third," Severus said quietly.

"Okay." She searched her mind—but her head, no longer throbbing thanks to the potion, was oddly fuzzy. She remembered putting up little cotton cobwebs with James… Sirius had come to the house, bringing a candied apple for Harry to try… _"Next year we'll take you out trick-or-treating,"_ James had said to their little boy, pointing out all the costumed children from the safety of the window. "But… wait. Yesterday… wasn't yesterday Halloween?" She didn't miss the way Severus' eyes flitted aside for barely an instant. He might have been the world's best Occlumens, as he had once bragged to her, but he never had been very good at lying to his best friend.

"Yesterday was the second," he corrected.

"Then I was out for…" the fog in her mind seemed to be getting thicker, and she found herself struggling with the math for a moment. _What __did__ he put in that potion__, anyway_"Three days?"

"More or less," he admitted.

"What happened, did I drink a sleeping potion?" Again that look of discomfort flitted across his face.

"You were stunned."

"And it took you three days to unstun me?" she asked suspiciously. "Who did it, anyway?"

"We'll discuss that after," he said firmly. Her eyes narrowed into almost-slits and she took another bite, chewing as savagely as the dizziness would permit.

"All right, then," she said. "Where's James? What's he been doing with Harry for the three days? Are they here?"

"Next question," he insisted, and she choked. He raised his wand to her throat and muttered some spell—the details lost in her frantic coughing. The bread and fish dislodged themselves from her throat and fell in pieces into her stomach. A quick "_Accio_" summoned a bottle of butterbeer, which zoomed into his hand. "Here—drink something." He snapped the cork from the bottle and pushed it into her hands.

"Severus," she rasped, the bottle full in her hands. "Where's James? Where's Harry?"

"Finish eating," he said numbly. She replaced the half-eaten sandwich on the tray.

"I'm not hungry," she said."

"Then… drink something." She took a quick swig of butterbeer and lowered the bottle once more, staring intently into his eyes.

"What happened, Sev?" she asked again. He leaned back uneasily.

"I… I'm sorry, Lily."

She felt the color drain from her face. "Sorry for what?" she asked. Again his eyes flicked to the side. "For what, Sev? What—"

"They're gone."

"In hiding," she clarified, a desperate laugh breaking through her tightening throat. "They're hiding. Why didn't you—"

"They're dead, Lily. The Dark Lord killed them both three days ago."

"No!" she cried savagely. "They're not dead! Where's James? Where's Harry? I know they're alive—they have to be!" She leaped from the bed, tottering even as she stormed away, but Severus grabbed her shoulder.

"They're gone," he said again, his hands vicelike as they held her back. "There's nothing you can do for them now, Lily—"

"You're wrong!" she shrieked. "They're alive—they've got to be, Voldemort wouldn't kill them and leave me behind—_let go of me_!"

She wasn't sure when the tears began or the thrashing ended, but now Severus was holding her tightly, pinning her arms to her sides in an oddly strangled hug. Slowly she gave up fighting him, too overwhelmed by grief to move anymore, and surrendered herself to sobbing into his shoulder.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Lily," he said clumsily, raising one hand to stroke her hair. "It… that should never have happened. It—" _It'll__ be okay?_ No. He couldn't say that. Not now. And he didn't. They just stood there for a long time, Lily crying as Severus tried awkwardly to comfort her, until the haze overpowered her completely, and she collapsed in his arms. He half carried, half dragged her back to the bed and laid her back under the covers as gently as he could, shrouding her again with the blanket. He looked warily at the empty flask on the ground, the last baleful drops of analgesique potion glistening in the dim light. He had hoped despite himself that it would have cleared her mind completely… but he could have no such luck.

_I've got enough__ luck_, he told himself, glancing back at Lily's sedated form. The Dark Lord's acquiescence to his pleas had been miraculous enough. Everything else… he looked down at her tear-stained face, still beautiful in grief. It would take time, perhaps. But she was alive, she was safe. He could handle whatever else could possibly happen now.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If JK Rowling is still in High School, then there's hope for all of us. Be that as it may, I'm not her, I'm a student who likes writing too much to have a life.

AN: It's time for the promised discourse on James and Harry: the way I see it, James Potter was already doomed. He probably didn't have time to run for the back door when Voldemort arrived, and our favorite Dark Lord had no reason to keep James alive anyway. His death was noble and heroic, but inevitable. Lily actually had the chance to save herself—she was given a blatant offer, and she chose to give her life rather than handing her son over to Voldemort. Which is why her subsequent death created the protection over Harry, while his father's didn't. In the same sense, Harry had the very real option of turning around and leaving Hogwarts in the end of DH. It would have gone against his character and very destiny, but he had the choice. He was not doomed to die—but he did anyway, which is why his 'death' created the same charm over the people at Hogwarts. For the same reason, Dumbledore's death (about to happen anyway) didn't create any charm over Malfoy, Snape or Harry. That's my logic anyway. But in this version of events, Lily didn't die, which means that the charm was never created. Therefore, James is dead, as is Harry, and Voldemort is still alive and terrorizing the masses. And I hope you see why I split this from the other uber long Author's Note, because this is almost ridiculously long by itself.

Many thanks from your humble servant,

Masako Moonshade

* * *

. 

Severus Snape had made a severe miscalculation. Lily Evans… no, Lily _Potter _was alive, but saving that fragile life entailed more than simply persuading the Dark Lord not to kill her. It was, in fact, far more complicated than that.

"Lily," he said, his voice rising in something between frustration and concern. "For the last time, you need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry," he said absently, still staring at the wall, worrying her thumbnail as though she was taking an exam.

"I don't care," he argued, brandishing an apple like a weapon. "You're going to eat if I have to shove this down your throat. And get some sleep while you're at it." She desperately needed it—heavy bags had formed under her eyes, and she'd lost an unhealthy amount of weight in the past week. Thick, red lines streaked down her face where her skin had been agitated by nearly endless tears. He was brewing a sleeping potion, but that still had to stew for a few days, and he doubted that she could afford to wait that much longer.

She wasn't paying attention—her eyes were focused on the far wall, and she had resumed chewing her nail. "Do you think they're okay?" she asked roughly. When he didn't respond, she continued: "Sirius and Remus… they're survivors, they know how to take care of themselves, I know, but…" she shook her head and looked helplessly up at him. "Mary is already in hiding, she promised she'd keep her head down… And…" She swallowed. "What about Petunia? If something's happened to her..." Severus made an effort not to let his face show. He, personally, had little sympathy for the Muggle girl, as obnoxious and spiteful as she was. Lily must have read his silence, because her head had already bowed and couldn't see his veiled expression. "She's my sister, Sev. If she—if she were to get hurt because of me…" she swallowed again. "I don't think I could forgive myself."

"I'm…" he struggled to even his voice convincingly. Blast it all, why was this so much easier when he was dealing with the Dark Lord? "I'm sure she's fine," he told her. Lily smiled weakly up at him. "I'll prove it to you—I'll send her an owl… no," he corrected quickly, remembering the girl's idiotic pretended phobia of all things magical. "I'll check up on her personally. I'll make sure she's all right." The disbelief and gratitude in her face stunned him; he barely noticed that she had climbed to her feet.

"When do we go?" she asked shakily.

He started. "Wait— you can't," he protested.

"Why not?" She blinked, wiping her eyes. "Petunia's my sister, Sev. And I know you can't stand her, and—"

"You're not well, for one thing," he said as firmly as he could. "Look at yourself, Lily. If you come to her doorstep looking like that, she'll be worried sick. And if the two of us go, someone might wonder what we're doing at a Muggle's house—I'll be going in secret," he added as he saw her open her mouth to argue. "Just to check on her, so she doesn't need to worry about acting suspicious." She nodded reluctantly, and he almost heaved a sigh of relief. He'd rather not mention the first reason that had occurred to him—that it was for fear of her own life that he didn't want her to go. Even if the Dark Lord had spared her, Avery and Yaxley had personal grudges against Lily Potter, as did at an unnumbered horde of others, all of whom would be thrilled by the prospect of her torture and murder. He had to make sure, first, that she'd be safe from the likes of them. "But I'll go to her tonight," he promised her. There was a glimmer of gratitude in those emerald eyes, and he continued before he could stop himself: "Is there… er… anyone else you need me to check up on?"

She smiled up at him in that heart-shattering way of hers—appreciation and that vein of humor blended together to make her breathtakingly beautiful, even through pallor and tearstains.

"You wouldn't find anyone in the Order," she said gently. "None of my old Muggle friends have spoken to me since before I went into hiding. And Peter—" her voice broke. "I don't think Peter can be saved anymore."

"Why not?" Severus asked, though simultaneously he racked his mind—that name was familiar… Lily bit her lip.

"He…he was our Secret Keeper," she explained softly, another stream of tears threatening at the edges of her eyes. "Voldemort couldn't have found us unless it was through him."

_Oh_, Severus realized with a mental wince. _Pettigrew_. He remembered all too well that little group that followed Potter around, and the pathetic little boy who clung to the Quiddich Champion's coattails. Rather a repulsive boy, actually; easily impressed by power. It hadn't been too much of a surprise to see him simpering up to the Dark Lord.

"What do you think happened?" he asked instead, guiding her back to the bed as he sat down beside her. She shuddered.

"I don't want to think about it," she said, looking somewhat sick. "He wouldn't have told him—he was our friend, Sev—not unless it was forced out of him."

So he'd made the right choice in not saying anything. Gingerly he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, sympathetically. "But all you can do for him now—for all of them—is to take care of yourself, Lily."

* * *

The night was dark, half foggy—the windows were clouded with precipitation, shrouding the world outside in a dank blackness, and the moisture pressed against her skin. 

"Lily," murmured that familiar, laughing voice. "You shouldn't sleep like that. You'll get a crick in your neck."

She blinked, hardly daring to believe what she heard. "James?" she whispered tentatively.

"Who else?" he grinned down at her, his face soft, his hair wild. He seemed to be bathed in a golden glow, courtesy of the fire that was crackling merrily in the hearth. She leaned forward—her head had fallen against the cushy back of the chair—and shook her head.

"Sorry," she said. "I just had a dream… an awful dream." She smiled up at him. "But that's all it was, wasn't it?"

"Of course it was," he chided, kissing her forehead. "Come on, you can tell me all about it at dinner." He extended a hand and helped her from her seat.

"By the way," she said casually, still trying to shake off the worry of the nightmare. "Where's Harry?"

"Sirius has him—he was getting cranky, so old Padfoot thought he'd bring him to bed."

"You called?" the ruthlessly handsome head poked out from the kitchen, his black tresses sweeping around him.

"That was fast," mused James.

"Sirius," Lily said, blinking. "I thought you were upstairs with Harry."

"I was," he shrugged. "But then Voldemort volunteered to do it, so I came down to help Remus with the food. Moony may be a genius, but he's a complete idiot when it comes to salad."

Lily's expression seemed to have frozen on her skull.

"Don't joke like that," she said, her voice higher than it should have been. Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Who's joking? Remus can't make a salad to save his life."

"But Voldemort isn't—"

"He's right upstairs. See for yourself—" he seemed to freeze just then, turned to stone in a flash of green light, still pointing to the top of the stairs. A tall, hooded figure stood on the second story, turned away from her. She heard Peter cry out before he toppled over the railing, landing in a lifeless heap at her feet. A scream began in her throat, but it was washed away by sheer terror.

"Lily," James shouted, laughing no more. He seized her shoulder, pulling her behind him. "Take Harry and run—I'll hold him off—" And he too was frozen, cast in stone just as Sirius had been.

"James?" he cried, trying to shake him, but he was as immovable as granite. "James! Answer me!"

"You've had your warning, girl." The voice that echoed in her ears was little more than an icy hiss. She backed away, her eyes wide, as Lord Voldemort began his descent down the stairs.

"Wh-where's Harry?" she demanded, her tremulous voice as fierce as she could manage.

"Idiot Mudblood," he sneered, advancing even further, his crimson eyes flashing malevolently. "He's right there." He extended his wand arm, pointing at her with long, spidery fingers. For the first time she looked down—her arms were wrapped around a tiny form, his skin bloodless and pale, his body cold, his little green eyes wide and blank in death.

Lily screamed.

"Lily!" Voldemort snarled, closing the distance between them and seizing her arms in his spidery fingers. She thrashed and shouted, trying to get away, to protect her son's body from this horror.

"Lily!" he shouted again, his voice deepening as his grip tightened. The sleeves of his cloak whipped at her face as she struggled.

"No!" she cried. "No, get away from him! _NO_!"

"_Lily, wake up_!"

Her eyes snapped open. She was shaking convulsively, her breath ragged, her entire body drenched with sweat, her vision flooded with tears. A figure was gathered over her, pinning her hands to a bed, its face inches from hers.

"Wake up," it said again, its voice barely familiar. The face was too close, too blurred to be recognizable… But the eyes weren't red, she realized suddenly. They were black.

It wasn't Voldemort.

She crumpled, sobbing witlessly.

"It was just a dream," Severus whispered urgently. "Just a dream, Lily. Don't cry." Slowly, tentatively, he released her hands, though he continued to hover over her. "You're safe here." Still her tears didn't abate, and he made a few indistinct, nervous sounds as he attempted to comfort her. Frazzled and perplexed, he changed tactics.

"Come on," he said, scooping her up and pulling her gently from the bed. "Come with me, I'll get you something to drink." She was still distraught, but at least now she was on her feet, which was a slight improvement. He slung her arm over his shoulder, and wrapped his around her waist, supporting her as he guided her down the narrow stairs. "Watch your step… careful…" He fumbled to extract his wand from his robes, blasting open the door at the bottom of the passage with a quick spell. "Come one," he ushered her. "This way…" He lowered her carefully into a threadbare old sofa, smoothing her hair gently.

"I'll be right back," he said. Her eyes widened in alarm, still distraught by the dream, and he bent low over her once again. "I'll just be in the kitchen, I swear." At a loss for anything else he could do, he rushed from the room.

"Now what?" he whispered to himself as he vanished from her sight. What in the world did one do for women when they were hysterical? His eyes swept over the kitchen, and caught the dusty gleam of the teapot.

"Right. Tea." He glanced at the cauldron in the hearth, but it was already occupied with a sleeping draught for Lily—he'd have to make a new one, a dreamless sleeping potion, and probably a calming draught as well, but that would have to come later. Instead he shoved his wand into the kettle, muttering "_Aguamenti_," and it filled with water. Another spell issued from his wand, and it began suddenly to boil. He nearly hurled the teapot onto a tray, along with a pair of dusty cups and a box of teabags that he fished out of a disused cupboard.

"What else, what else?" He could hear Lily's shaky breathing from the sitting room, and he doubled his frantic search. He racked his mind to recount every experience he'd ever had with upset women, summoning whatever came into his mind. "_Accio_!" A rather old looking chocolate frog (he didn't even remember when he'd purchased it, having never been fond of sweets) zoomed from one drawer; another few summonings produced a bottle of brandy, one of wine, a box of tissues and a weathered blanket. The latter he draped over his shoulder, piled all the rest onto the tray, and hurried back to Lily. She was still pale as death, though the shaking had died down a little. He almost hesitated, his direction flitting from the weary armchair to the couch in which Lily sat. It wouldn't be prudent, he told himself. It wouldn't help her at all. It might even make her uncomfortable. But no—he seated himself on the sofa beside her, as close as he dared. Five long years had gone by while he had been forced to keep his distance; he wouldn't extend that personal exile any more if he could help it.

"Drink something," he urged her, setting the entire pile on the rickety little table before her. He pulled the blanket from his shoulder and tossed it over her like a cloak. She reached for the teapot, but he took it instead, pouring her a cup.

"Thanks," she mumbled, bringing the tea to her white lips. A long silence passed between them while Severus deliberated. Finally he chose a course of action.

"Are you all right?" he asked carefully. She made a small, indistinct noise. "Lily?"

"I saw him," she nearly whispered. "Killing them. James and Harry and Peter and Sirius and…" She shuddered. "And I… I couldn't do anything. Couldn't stop it."

"He's left now," he said. "You're safe here, Lily. He won't hurt you anymore."

"But what about them?" she asked, her voice shrill. "What about—"

"Your sister's fine," he said quietly. "I was with her barely an hour ago." Lily had gone silent, and now she clung to his every word with rapt attention. "She's living in Little Whinging with her husband. They—" He stopped himself before he could say it: '_they've got a __little boy_' That would be cruel, so soon after she'd lost her own son. "They're happy," he finished instead. "And I've checked everywhere I could think of for the others. They're safe—if they were found I'd have heard about it." There was no way Amycus or Lucius would let such a piece of news escape him. She drained her cup pensively.

"You think they're all right?" she asked finally, putting the cup down on the table and wiping her eyes.

"I'm sure of it," he said.

He was completely unprepared—one moment she was nodding thoughtfully, and the next she was pressed against his chest, hugging him fiercely. An odd dampness on his robes assured her that she was still crying.

"Thank you, Sev," she whispered into his neck. He felt a hot flush rise in his face. "Thank you… you have no idea what that means to me."

"… I think I can imagine," he managed to say, feeling a bit dizzy from the scent of her hair. A moment's daring threatened him, but he pushed it aside. This was definitely the wrong time to steal a kiss. Too quickly she pulled away, happier tears adding a spark to her already brilliant eyes.

"You're amazing, Sev. Absolutely amazing."

He made a mental note to keep his eyes open for more news, thoroughly satisfied with her reaction. "And you're—" _Beautiful_. "—all cut up."

"What?" she asked, puzzled. He glanced around futilely—he'd never been particularly careful about his looks, and mirrors were in rather short supply in his house.

"You scratched yourself when you were having that nightmare," he explained. "That's why I… er… grabbed you. I think I might have scared you, though."

She reached up, still a little confused, and touched her cheek. Her fingers brushed one of the wide scratches and she winced. "I did that?"

"Dreams can make us do strange things," he said, pulling out his wand. "Here—let me see—" he reached out with his free hand, cradling her jaw in his palm as he kept her head steady. Her eyes closed obediently, and her face relaxed gracefully. He found it suddenly much harder to focus, and he had to think back for the right spell. Still he kept his expression carefully blank as he traced his wand over the cuts, muttering the incantation as he did.

"Um… Sev," she murmured, making an effort not to move her mouth too much. "Why did you wait 'till now for…?"

"You were in hysterics," he said, grateful for a distraction. "I didn't think it wise to point a wand in your face while you were that upset."

"Oh." She looked a little sheepish as he released her, again pocketing his wand. "Thanks." Her eyes flickered back to his hand, as though she'd glimpsed something odd, but she wiped her eyes before her gaze lifted, taking in the room around them. "You know, I didn't even notice it before."

"You were distracted," he shrugged.

"I guess so," she murmured, still studying the chamber. Three of the walls were covered, floor to ceiling, in crowded bookshelves that paused only to allow an occasional doorway to squeeze between the tomes. The fourth wall sheltered a door and a few small windows, and a few tired old hooks, one of which was weighed down by a limp traveling cloak. One of the far doors caught her attention—behind it was a narrow staircase that climbed up to the room she had come to think of as hers. But what truly caught her eye was just how thick the door was—one side had been fitted with shelves that were identical to the surrounding walls, crammed with even more books. It was obvious enough agape, but when it was closed, the passage would be all but invisible.

"A secret room?" she wondered, not taking her eyes from the door.

"It isn't the only one," he said mildly, pointing out a rather unordinary looking panel of shelves and books on the same wall. She glanced his way for a curious moment, before sweeping again over the walls, searching for more.

"Any reason in particular?"

"Convenience and happenstance," he said.

"Meaning…?"

"That some of them were here since before I can remember, and others were added to accommodate an excess of books."

"And you put me in one of those because…" She looked pointedly at him, but he continued to observe the bookshelves as though they were about to perform some fascinating trick. "Sev?"

"I wanted to make sure that you had somewhere to hide… should you need to."

She sat back, staring intently into his averted eyes. "Will I need to?"

Finally he met her gaze, so fervent that she felt a chill race down her spine. "I'll protect you, Lily," he promised. "From anything."


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks again to Yuan, who is a fantastic Beta.

Disclaimer: ... are pigs flying yet? No? Then I guess I still don't own anything.

AN: What? No ridiculously long Author's Notes this time? Gasp! Actually, I didn't see much that needed explaining just yet...

* * *

As Severus Apparated into the sitting room, his palms were already moist from sweat. He was being ridiculous, he told himself. She couldn't—she wouldn't—

He spelled open the hidden door without breaking stride and bounded up the narrow stairs, his heart pounding in his chest, his entire body clammy with dread.

"Lily," he called, his voice constricting in his throat. Louder this time: "Lily!" No reply came from the chamber. "_Lily_!" Still nothing—a flick of his wand could have blasted the door apart, but his breakneck pace slowed as though he was wading through icy water. This couldn't be happening. And yet…

"_Are you going to __Voldemort__ again?_"

"Lily," he rasped, trying in vain to master himself. "I'm back."

Silence.

_"Or do you want me to think you got that tattoo__ just__ to impress someone?"_

He gripped the pewter doorknob so hard he wondered if it would break, but it managed to turn, and the door swung open with a loud creak.

It was empty.

_"Of course I don't like it, __Sev__; that man is evil. After everything he's done…"_

The bed was made, her wand gone, her borrowed night clothes folded beside the pillow. His breath came shallow and ragged as he allowed himself to slump onto the empty mattress. She was gone. Just like that. He felt cold inside, hollow.

_"Not much I can do to stop it now, is there? Go ahead—it's probably dangerous for you to stay__ back__"_

He knew—that was worst. He knew she would leave, and he went anyway. When the Dark Mark scorched his skin, he'd already decided to obey it. Of course he'd made his excuses—that there was an appointment he'd forgotten about, a neighbor that needed help—but she saw through them instantly. She had already put together enough bits and pieces of the truth: that Severus' custody over her hadn't been accident or circumstance, that he had known more than he let on.

_"__Don't worry about me; I'll be fine here."_

And even if it wasn't the whole truth, it was enough: that he served the man who had killed her husband and son. No amount of coaxing or explanation could undo that simple fact.

He sat there for a long time, trying to think it through. He could go to her sister, or Godric's Hollow, or her old house down the street—no, she wouldn't go there, it was too close—

_No_. Never since he made his deal with Dumbledore had he felt his guilt so acutely. Now it carved into him, tormenting him with the reality of what he'd done. It had seemed so simple a few hours before, while he'd been busy caring for her. Somehow he'd convinced himself that all it would take was a few Sleeping potions, a Calming Draught, a warm embrace—that she'd somehow forget about losing her family.

Another memory echoed in his mind, but this time the voice belonged to Dumbledore: _"You disgust me… You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and __child?__ They can die, as long as you have what you want?"_

To go after her now would be nothing short of sacrilege. Clenching his fists, he rose from the bed and strode woodenly to the stairs, descending like a puppet. His mind focused on one goal—the only task he could manage to think of in this moment. Get rid of the Sleeping Draught. He wouldn't need it anymore. She wasn't coming back.

Repetition of the fact made it no easier to bear.

The once tiny sitting room seemed to stretch for miles, but at last he crossed it, entering the threshold of the kitchen—

"_Scourgify_!"

His heart threatened to stop in his chest. It couldn't be a memory—maybe a hallucination, maybe a—

Not yet daring to believe his ears, he stepped forward.

"You make it back all right, Sev?" Lily asked over her shoulder, her wand directing a mass of suds in one of the shelves. Its previous contents were stacked haphazardly on the counter, thoroughly cleaned.

"You—you're here," he stammered, his mouth agape. She lowered her wand and turned to face him, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Shouldn't I be?" she asked. Almost involuntarily, his eyes flicked down to his left arm, as though making sure it was still there. She sighed wearily. "Sev, I won't lie to you: I hate that you're a part of that. But…" Again she sighed, but when she looked back up at him, her eyes were gentle. "But you've been my best friend for years, and you've been taking care of me all this time… that's more important to me than some tattoo. Voldemort killed James and Harry—you had nothing to do with it."

He stared at her in utter disbelief, rooted in place. Had an angel pardoned him, the release could not have been so absolute, the relief so sweet—nor the remaining guilt so bitter. Because he did not forget the entirety of his crimes against her, and now more than ever he wanted to eradicate it. Anything to ease her sorrows. Anything to make her happy.

"You know, I only noticed yesterday," she continued, either oblivious to his overwhelming epiphany or else choosing not to draw attention to it. "But I've been staying here more than a week and I haven't actually been outside of my room and the bathroom upstairs." She laughed lightly, the sound exquisite in his ears. "Petunia would go insane if she saw all this. I swear, she's almost as bad around dust as she is with magic. So of course I couldn't help myself." She shot another spell at one of the cupboards, scouring away years of grime and neglect. "Join me?" she invited.

"Um…" A million things ran through his head—confessions, apologies, declarations. He settled on a vague "Sure." And his own wand came out, and he began throwing spell after spell through the air. Severus had forever been a pragmatist—he used what he needed, and didn't bother touching the rest. Time, dust, and the occasional insect had rendered much of the unnecessary objects in his house filthy. He'd never taken the time to fix that; he'd never enjoyed cleaning things. But now, here with Lily…

She moved forward and pulled open a cabinet, at the same time pocketing her wand. She seized out a stack of dishes that he didn't remember owning and heaped them unsteadily in her arms. The pile tottered threateningly… though that was mended with a flick of his wand and a flying charm.

"Thanks," Lily said cheerfully, watching as the dishes floated to the sink, stacking perfectly in the sudsy water.

"Would this help?" he asked, flicking his wand again. The rest of the cabinets popped open in succession, flapping once in a kind of salute before they stood rigid. She glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised and a half smile on her face.

"Are you showing off?" she asked affably. He felt the color rise in his cheeks.

"Erm… not… er…" He blinked at her, searching for the right words. They didn't come. Thankfully, he didn't need them—Lily was grinning mischievously and drew her own wand with a flourish. Obediently a few dozen dishes and cups whirled from the now open cabinets, circling the kitchen in a starry formation before landing beside the sink with a light _clink_.

"Your turn," she said. Composing himself, he issued another spell, and fountains of blue and green bubbles sprayed from the emptied cabinets, scouring the insides and landing in a froth on the floor.

The contest continued for another half hour—by that time, the kitchen was gleaming and a number of sparkling forks were twirling through the air in bizarre formations. He'd never enjoyed cleaning anything so much. And Lily was smiling, her mind occupied for the moment on the task at hand, rather than worry and mourning.

"Can Ashwinder eggs go bad?" she was asking, sniffing suspiciously at one jar. They were now sitting on the newly polished kitchen floor, examining the contents of his now spotless pantry, which were strewn recklessly around them, accompanied by a quill, an inkwell, and a scrap of parchment.

"No, they always smell like that," he assured her.

"Ugh. Anyway, you're running low on those." She jotted it down, scanning the rest of the jars and boxes. "Sev, do you like Raspberry tea?"

"I suppose," he said slowly, sending away a few of the approved articles. A number of empty containers and spoiled goods had been stacked on one side, to be thrown away at first opportunity.

"Good." And she added that to the list. "Anything else?"

He glanced at the remaining flasks. "Do we have much syrup of Hellebore?" he asked.

"Nope," she said, putting aside another empty bottle. "What for?"

"A calming draught." She glanced up at him. "Just in case."

"If you say so," she said with a shrug. "But chocolate works just as well."

"Chocolate?" He blinked at her.

"Sure. The stuff is magic."

"All right…" He cast another sweeping glance over the boxes. "We need powdered moonstones, too," he added. She nodded and copied it onto the parchment.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"My lord," Severus said, bowing low before his master as he arrived. The Dark Lord acknowledged him with barely a glance—he'd been given no new assignments recently, and clearly nothing immediate had been planned for him. He glanced around; the Dark Lord was waiting for the arrival of one of his informants, but a considerable number of Death Eaters were prowling in the shadows. It was time to make his move.

"My deepest gratitude, my lord, for your generous gift," he said, bowing again. The Dark Lord's eyes flickered back to him, his expression belying a trace of amusement… and of satisfaction. All around, the other Death Eaters watched with fixed attention.

"Tell me, Severus," Lord Voldemort sibilated. "Are you enjoying your recompense?"

"Indeed. The Muggle-born girl is most… gratifying," he said, forcing a lightly sinister smile to flit across his features. "I expect to get much more use out of her."

"As you shall," the Dark Lord hissed genially. "Those who serve me are rewarded."

"A grand reward indeed," Severus said, bowing low a third time. He spared a discreet glance at the shadows around him. Many of the Death Eaters exchanged greedy, hungry glances; a few looked as though they had been denied a treat. He recognized all of these—they were people who knew the identity of his 'reward', who'd had a particular grudge against the Potters. Now Lily Potter was off limits to them—only the Dark Lord could take what the Dark Lord had given; if they were to sully their master's gift, the consequences would be dire. Severus allowed a savage smile cross his face as some began to speak amongst themselves. But their words were lost in seconds—Barty Crouch had Apparated in their midst, bringing the news the Dark Lord was so eager to hear.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **So the first two weeks of school was grueling, the first draft of this chapter was laughable, and my older brother is back in town. All this culminates in a rather late chapter (expect the next to be a bit off schedule, too) but at least it's out. And, ironically enough, at the moment I should be writing an essay on the nature of truth. So enjoy this whilst I take care of that!

Disclaimer: I somehow doubt that it's necessary to flout the fact that I am not J.K. Rowling, and that I sadly do not own Harry Potter.

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Severus stared perplexedly at the pot, allowing the vapors fill his hooked nose.

"Where did you learn all this?" he asked as she attended to the contents of a frying pan.

"There's not much to do when you're in hiding," she said with a shrug, but he could read the satisfaction on her face. "Card games, chess, cleaning, and taking care of Harry—" There was a certain defiance as she said that; Severus had noticed how much effort she put into speaking of her late husband and son, but he didn't mention it to her. "—can only pass so much time. And you know how I hate to reread books."

"So you experimented?" he asked warily. He remembered all too well some of her failed attempts at potions from their younger years. The fact that Hinkypunk skin could not be substituted for Boomslang skin in Polyjuice potions was forever etched into his memory.

"Actually, I started reading cookbooks," she countered. "You wouldn't believe what kinds of things you can do with beef stock." She seemed to attack the contents of the pan with a spoon, looking oddly satisfied as she did. "And I was wondering—when are you going shopping next? There were some things I wanted to try out."

"I'll do it soon," he said evasively. Being perfectly honest with himself, he'd avoided leaving his home unless absolutely necessary. As the days passed, Lily had gotten progressively better… though she still had to rely on potions to let her sleep through the night, and too often her smiles carried an undercurrent of defiance, more for his benefit than out of actual happiness. Her mourning had become private, but it hadn't ended. So she kept busy, doing as much of anything as she could, infusing each task with every scrap of energy she had, and as she did, her smiles became more breathtakingly sincere. Now she occupied herself with cooking more complex meals than he had eaten since graduating Hogwarts, reading as many of his leather bound tomes as she could reach, and cleaning anything that looked vaguely suspicious. Often she invited him to join her, making even the most mundane tasks vastly enjoyable, at other times he contented himself to just stay nearby, stealing glimpses of her as he worked and studied.

He'd also absorbed more sunshine than he had in years—now that Lily was off-limits to the other Death Eaters, it was safe for her to roam outside; oddly enough, she had waited for his assent before leaving the house, likely a habit she had acquired during long months lived in terror. He didn't trust their fear to perpetually win over their twisted malice, though, so he guarded her carefully every time she ventured into his depressingly decrepit lawn.

Granted, Spinner's End was rather dank and didn't offer much for scenery, but she was thrilled nonetheless. More than a year in hiding hadn't allowed her to venture out of doors, and she embraced even his weed-strewn yard with childish delight. Her new project, she'd decided, would be to clear it of overgrowth, tame the foliage, and even plant a few more handsome herbs.

He was summoned away on more than one occasion—evidently the Longbottom family was being targeted by the Dark Lord, but they had disappeared before he got a chance to dispose of them—and always she made a point of not talking about his business with the Dark Lord. Still he made sure to use those times away from her to her benefit: at all times he listened for news of her friends from the Order, always reporting the silence to her as soon as possible.

One particularly satisfying parcel of information passed him—that Remus Lupin (among Potter's old crowd, he was perhaps the most likable, though that wasn't saying much at all) had eluded the Death Eaters once again, wounding three of the Dark Lord's men during the course of a particularly clever escape. The information itself was mild enough, but the prospect of Lily's face when he told her the news galvanized him, and he found it difficult to concentrate as the meeting dragged on into the night. He Disapparated as soon as he could, reappearing in his sitting room—it was dark and empty, as was the kitchen, the cramped dining room, the moonlit garden.

A kind of keen electricity was building within him as he climbed the stairs to her room. He hadn't realized how late the hour had become, how much he truly needed to see her.

"Lily?" he asked softly, tapping at the door. No reply came, but this time he wasn't worried. When a second knock warranted no answer, he eased open the door. True enough, she was nestled in the bed, her face angelic in sleep, her arms arranged serenely around her abdomen, her fair skin almost shimmering in the moonlight that streamed through her window.

She'd taken the Sleeping potion again—the last dregs glowed pearlescent from the crystal goblet beside her bed. The remnant hadn't yet congealed, meaning she'd taken it not long before; it was still fresh, and she remained in the deepest phase of slumber. He crept closer to the bed, telling himself it was only to retrieve the goblet, and then he would leave… momentarily…

Her dark red hair was draped around her pillow, forming a peculiar halo around her breathtaking face. The unhealthy pallor had left her skin, leaving in its place a creamy glow; her lips, again accustomed to smiling, had become full and alluring. He didn't realize what he was doing until his fingers brushed through that cherry hair, smoothing tenderly against her brow. She shifted slightly, as though in a dream; her lips moved soundlessly before they relaxed, her head tilted against the pillow, a faint smile on her sleeping face. He felt his heart catch in his throat, and he sank to his knees, gently lowering himself over her until his face was barely an inch from his, and he could smell her intoxicating breath all around, leaving him drunk and dizzy. He took a deep breath, a sigh, drinking in her scent and his longing.

Again her lips fluttered, barely a hair's breadth from his, smiling as they formed incoherent sounds that gradually took form: "… mn… James…"

All at once his eyes flared open, he was again awake and alert and about to kiss Lily. He pulled back, his hand fumbling over the crystal goblet as he dragged it away with him. Now he was pressed against the far wall, staring in silent shock at Lily, his head spinning.

He was surprised— appalled that he'd lost control, that he'd almost given in, almost betrayed the woman who had shown no desire to be with him. The thought shamed him—still sullied as he was, his taint even darker against her glistening purity, to even think of doing such a thing against her will, while she slept, while she still loved Potter.

And despite all else, that thought infuriated him. After all, _he'd_ saved her. _He'd_ taken care of her. _He'd_ comforted her. _He'd_ known her longer, better. _He'd_ loved her first. Loved her forever. Where was Potter now? Where had he ever been? And what right did he have…?

Slowly, slowly he forced himself to look away and staggered down the stairs. He had other things to do, he reminded himself. Work to do, potions to brew, a shower to take. Preferably a cold one.

…

The next day he immersed himself particularly in his work, using every subtle excuse to leave a room as she entered it. She noticed—a quirked eyebrow told that much—but there was no trace of comprehension in her expression. So she had no idea. Fine.

A certain awkwardness lingered in his every sense. His mind was torn, half longing to close the gap between them and half determined to keep his distance. He wanted to stare at her constantly, yet refused to look her way; wanted to inhale her intoxicating scent again, yet held his breath whenever she approached. He wanted to reach out and touch her, yet he kept his hands tight inside his pockets as she drew near. It was maddening.

"Erm… Lily?" he said quietly, though he felt like he was straddling the brink of insanity. She looked up. "I'm going to go… shopping. Where did you put that list of things you wanted?"

"On the counter," she said, though her tone insisted that she wanted to know more. Even now she was picking apart his motives, studying his carefully blank expression with her most cunning scrutiny.

"Thank you," he said civilly, retrieving the parchment with a flick of his wand and stowing it carefully in his robes. "I won't be long."

"All right," she replied, and he didn't look her in the eyes as he hurriedly Disapparated.

He Apparated inside the Leaky Cauldron, still trying to get his bearings. The pub had seen better days—its patrons sat huddled together, speaking in hushed tones and glancing over their shoulders as though they expected a raid at any moment; all around hovered an air of despair, almost reminiscent of dementors. Oddly enough, it was a relief from the day's awkwardness, and he found himself sitting at the bar.

"Butterbeer," he told the hunchbacked wizard who was cleaning a few glasses. The drink was slow in coming, and he found himself looking around. A small cluster of nervous witches entered, a dark haired wizard meandered out the back door. There was Nott, an oddly twisted smile on his face despite the gloom, talking quietly to Macnair and Selwyn in one corner. Idly Severus wondered if the stifling despondency had been caused by the arrival of the Death Eaters, or if they had simply been drawn to the paranoia of other wizards. The Dark Lord's servants had adopted a guise of half-secrecy in their allegiance—they found it made for more effective spywork, and helped to keep the Order at bay.

Finally his drink arrived and he gulped it down, laying a handful of sickles on the counter as he held the frothing mug to his mouth. The drink hadn't helped his mood much—rather, he was starting to crave the comforts of his home (mainly Lily's presence there), and consequently he wanted to finish the shopping as quickly as possible. He paced quickly to the back door, slipping quietly outside. The little false alley was deserted, aside from a large black that dog was sniffing at some garbage bins. Feeling edgy, he counted out the bricks, reaching out to tap the right one with his wand.

He didn't even hear the whisper until it was too late—"_Expe__l__liarmus_!"—and the wand shot out of his hand, falling to the ground with a clatter. He twisted to retrieve it, but a second spell enveloped him, tearing him from the ground and suspending him—upside down—in the air. He swore inwardly, already too aware of his attacker.

"Evening, _Snivellus_," said Black, stepping into Severus' line of sight. He was smiling, but the expression was almost predatory; the gleam in his eyes came just short of bloodlust. Severus clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Black took a step closer, his wand pressed to his victim's throat. "Give me one good reason not to split you open here and now," he hissed.

His words were carefully chosen, slowly spoken, but he made no effort to hide his hatred: "Because I doubt that Dumbledore will appreciate your methods. He isn't finished with me yet, I can assure you."

"_Neither am I_," Black growled. "And what makes you think I'm here on Dumbledore's orders?"

"You're a member of his little army—I don't care why you've come, you still have to face him afterward." The blood was rushing into his head, which made it incredibly difficult to think clearly.

"James is dead," said the crazed man, ravenous fury spilling into his voice. This was no longer their old schoolyard loathing.

"And you think me responsible?"

"_You sold him out to __Voldemort_!" he snarled, driving his wand painfully into the hollow of Severus' throat. Those words struck a nerve, but he didn't dare let it show. He kept his face carefully composed. Even a flicker of weakness now would cost him his life—years of following the Dark Lord had taught him the necessity of self-control.

"I did nothing but repeat the ramblings of a drunken fraud." There was no point in lying about that—the very fact that Black had come to him with the accusation proved that he knew about the prophecy. "Who do you take me for—their Secret Keeper?" It looked like Black had been struck, and his wand fell a few inches.

"How did you know—?" he demanded.

"Tell me," Severus sneered. He had to hurry things along. "Did you have a point in coming here, or were you merely hoping to please a crowd?" He almost regretted it. Black's features evened, his eyes narrowed, his grip tightened on his wand as he remembered his purpose.

" James is dead," he repeated venomously. "So is his son. Where's Lily?"

Severus didn't answer.

"_Where is she_?" Black repeated, and red sparks flew from the tip of his wand, scorching his victim's robes where they landed.

"She's safe," he said at last, keeping his face carefully blank.

"Answer the question." There was murder in his eyes now. His knuckles were white around his wand, his mouth opened—

There was no way around it anymore; Black had already guessed, and that meant he had scant reason to keep Severus alive. And if he died, then Lily would—

"If you take her from my house you'll be putting her in even more danger," Severus said, his words falling from his mouth in a rush. He was dizzy and his skull was throbbing painfully, but he stared his opponent—his childhood enemy—in the eyes.

"_'More danger_?'" Black sneered. "Than in a Death Eater's hovel? That's likely."

"As long as she stays _in this Death Eater's hovel_, she's safe." He clenched his teeth, furious that he had to explain himself, but pressed on, forcing his words to rush from his mouth. "She's there on the Dark Lord's whim—"

"You think I care what Voldemort wants?"

"—and that means the Death Eaters can't touch her! Not without openly defying the Dark Lord, and they won't risk that—if you steal her away now, if it looks like she ran away, then _she'll_ be the one in defiance—she'll be hunted down and slaughtered like an animal."

"I'll protect her," Black growled. "Dumbledore will—"

"Of course," Severus felt his lip curl. "Because that worked _so well_ last time."

"So you expect me," Black seethed; his teeth were bared in a feral snarl. "To just sit back and leave James' wife in your slimy hands?" Severus' eyes narrowed. "Then you're mad, you sick b—"

"That's unfortunate," he interrupted. "Because Dumbledore does. And so does she."

Black's face twitched, and an awful heat was beginning to emanate from the tip of his wand. "Prove it."

Of all the demands, all the accusations, this one nearly struck him dumb. How on earth was he supposed to _prove_ anything, hanging in the air as he was?

"She's staying with me by her own choice," he began, still searching his mind.

"That's nothing the Imperius Curse can't inspire," Black retorted cruelly, his eyes reduced to slits.

"I would never—" he was cut off by a flick of Black's wand, which made him jerk violently in the air and slam hard into the brick wall. As he did, a scrap of parchment fell from Severus' pocket, neatly folded even as it fluttered to the ground.

"That!" he said quickly. "She wrote that a few days ago." For a moment, Black remained still, staring coldly up at him. Then he drew a silver knife from his robes, laying the blade on Severus' throat before he pointed his wand at the parchment. He never broke eye contact.

"Accio!" he growled, and it zoomed into his hand. He glanced quickly down—it was a shopping list, written in her hand but otherwise not extraordinary.

"This doesn't prove anything," Black snapped, though his eyes had returned to the parchment.

_Glass cleaner__Wormwood__Brown sugar__Asphodel__Anise__Brown Rice__Chicken (get __a good price) __Flour__Ashwinder__ eggs__Raspberry Tea__More__ ink__Powdered Moonstone__Syrup of Hellebore__Chocolate. __Don't__ forget!_

Severus watched Black's face as he reread the list, going over the last line over and over again with his eyes. He could almost see the thoughts whirling behind those smooth features.

_'Chocolate.__Don't forget__!' _It was written almost playfully, a chiding reminder to a friend. Snape was clever, but even he wouldn't have considered such a mundane detail, something so entirely unSnapeish…

"If Lily comes into any danger, I will be the first to know of it." Severus spoke slowly, steadily, meeting Black's gaze even before he looked up from the parchment. "And I'll personally take her to the Order of the Phoenix. I swear it."

"I don't trust you," he said warily.

"Then you'll have to trust _her_," he replied quietly. "She's clever—if she wants to leave, she'll find a way." He might have said something more, but he didn't get a chance. The sounds of footsteps behind the door disturbed their conversation. In that moment he plummeted to the earth, landing in a heap. By the time he righted himself to look around, Black was already gone.


End file.
